Rhapsody
by the-only-innocent
Summary: Spread on the bed two lovers sleep...they sleep but do not dream". Sometimes escaping isn't everything you thought it would be. SiriusJames. SLASH. One-shot.


DISCLAIMER: done own don't sue. The poems belongs to T.S. Eliot ("Preludes" and "Rhapsody on a windy night").

* * *

Spread on the bed, the two lovers sleep. Restlessly, but nonetheless they sleep. They turn themselves over in the bed, move closer to each other but never touch. Their mouths move soundlessly, as if they are invoking invisible gods. Their hair graces their foreheads, both raven dark, though one wears his short and then other long. They sleep long after the sun is up, and their room, which smells of cigarette smoke and winter, is lit. In the dusty little room, they sleep but they do not dream.

The winter evening settles down 

_With smells of steaks in passageways._

_Six o'clock._

_The burnt-out ends of smoky days._

_And now gusty shower wraps_

_The grimy scraps_

_Of withered leaves about your feet_

_And newspapers from vacant lots;_

_The showers beat_

_On broken blinds and chimney pots,_

_And at the corner of the street_

_A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps._

_And then the lighting of the lamps._

Sirius loves to sit on the small balcony of their hotel room. He loves it how the smoky breeze brushes his hair and lingers around his face as he sits, staring out into the horizon, cigarette between two limp fingers. Sometimes James joins him; sits beside Sirius, comfortably first, then uncomfortably, following Sirius gaze out onto the horizon. He asks Sirius what he sees, because evidently he isn't seeing it. And when Sirius says that he sees nothing, James goes back inside and lies on the bed, twisting the sheets around his body so they form a twisted cocoon. And Sirius comes back inside and joins him, and they have sex and afterwards lie on the bed, Sirius between James legs as he traces the night sky on Sirius' back.

The morning comes to consciousness 

_Of faint stale smells of beer_

_From the sawdust trampled street_

_With all its muddy feet that press _

_To early coffee stands._

_With the other masquerades _

_That time resumes,_

_One thinks of all the hands_

_That are raising the dingy shades_

_In a thousand furnished rooms._

Sirius loves to draw James while he is sleeping. He draws the gentle curve of the lips, the smooth line of his torso, the sharp angle of his hipbone. He sits for hours, caressing James form with is eyes as he sleeps. He watches James turn himself over, flexing the taut muscles of his abdomen. Sirius wants to run his hand over the abdomen, feel the smoothness of the skin, and taste the salt in it. But more than that, Sirius wants to watch James sleep. He wants to draw the sleeping Adonis, the Grecian god in the bed before him. But when James wakes, Sirius is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking whiskey from the bottle.

You tossed a blanket from the bed 

_You lay upon your back, and waited;_

_You dozed, and watched the night revealing _

_The thousand sordid images_

_Of which your soul was constituted;_

_They flickered against the ceiling._

Sirius loves to talk with James. When James asks Sirius of his preferred philosopher, Sirius replies with Eliot and Hugo, because Sirius has never cared for any philosophy but his own, and he believes that the poet and the writer had it figured out. They disagree on many things; that humanity is doomed, which Sirius believes and James avidly disagrees with. Sirius wants to fuck James most when they are arguing. James is worked up, eyes bright and hands flying and Sirius wants nothing more than James inside him.

Sirius loves when James reads Eliot for him. He lies on the grass, listening to James rich tenor covering the words as he recites "The Hollow Men" for Sirius. He feels the air, thick and seductive around him, he opens his eyes to massive expanse of darkness above. James' whisper cuts the air: "This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends..."

Sirius pushes his body up and surrenders himself to the sky.

"Not with a bang but a whimper".

His soul stretched tight across the skies 

_That fade behind a city block,_

_Or trampled by insistent feet_

_At four and five and six o'clock;_

_And short square fingers stuffing pipes,_

_And evening newspapers, and eyes_

_Assured of certain certainties,_

_The conscience of a blackened street_

_Impatient to assume the world._

Sirius loves to sit in the café with James. He likes the darkness that surrounds the shop (it is 4 o'clock in the morning) and that the café stands out like a beacon of light. He sits at the table with James, not speaking, just sitting in his presence. Sirius finds it comforting to have James with him, as he stares out into the darkness. When the sun rises, they go back to the dusty hotel room and fuck.

_I am moved by the fancies that are curled_

_Around these images, and cling:_

_The notion of some infinitly gentle_

_Infinitly suffering thing._

The first full moon that rose over the hotel was met by Sirius' soul. It was the first time he and James hadn't been with Remus when he transformed. Guilt racked him, twisting him up in knots and unwinding him again, only to be coiled again. He sat, watching the moon and drinking, wondering where Remus was. When he cut his head on a cupboard door, he screamed.

The memory throws up high and dry 

_A crowd of twisted things;_

_A twisted branch upon the beach_

_Eaten smooth, and polished_

_As if the world gave up_

_The secret of its skeleton_

_Stiff and white._

The mangled flesh, torn and bleeding, letting out the hurt and anger in the soul. The blood and hurt poured down his face, he closed his eyes, and surrendered to the grief.

The brand of Cain.

Sitting along the bed's edge, where You curled the papers from your hair, Or clasped the yellow soles of feet In the palms of both soiled hands.  
Sirius sits on the balcony, cigarette hanging between two fingers as he stares out at the horizon. Motionless, expressionless, he holds a letter in his hand, which sways in the gentle smoky wind. James comes out, and sits beside Sirius, dark circles under his eyes, and face pale with tiredness. He grasps the letter from his lover's hand, who doesn't react, and reads the letter. 5 words are written in neat and careful ink: Come home James, I'm pregnant.  
The wind blows the letter down off the balcony, and onto the street below.  
The lamp said, 'Four o'clock, Here is the key to the door. Memory! 

_You have the key,_

_The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair._

_Mount._

_The bed is open; the toothbrush hangs on the wall,_

_Put on your shoes at the door and prepare for life.'_

James pushes himself onto his lover's chest, blood tears falling as he cries out in hurt. Sirius sits silently, staring out at the horizon, fingers caressing the cut, the brand, breaking the skin and feeling the blood on his fingertips.

_The last twist of the knife._

* * *

REVIEW!!!! please, i need the feedback!


End file.
